Greek Warriors (7 page)

Isis nodded. “Leave it to me,” she said.

They reached large, carved double doors that had gold symbols painted all over them. Two guards with stern faces stood on either side, holding spears in their hands.

As Tom offered the tray for them to inspect, angry voices erupted from the room beyond.

“You are past it, Father!” a young man shouted. “That's your trouble. The kingdom would be better off without you.”

Tom pushed open the door, wondering what to expect. His heart thumped hard against his chest. Nobody seemed to noticed him and Isis enter.

As they glimpsed the terrible scene, Tom almost dropped the tray. An old man – King Priam, Tom assumed – was standing by the window. Behind him stood a tall young man. Tom guessed he was Prince Paris.

Paris's face was twisted in rage. He gripped the old man around the neck with two strong hands. The king started to sink to his knees with wide, terrified eyes. He suddenly noticed Tom and held out his hand.

“Help me!” he gasped.

“Noooo!” Tom shouted. “Let the king go!”

Noticing the two children, Paris quickly let go of his father. The old king rubbed at his throat.

“You were strangling your own father!” Tom said, pointing an accusing finger at Paris.

Paris suddenly wore the same expression that Tom's dad had when Mum found him rummaging in the biscuit tin.

“Strangling the king?” he said, his eyes darting about. “I was doing nothing of the sort!” He looked round the throne room, as though he was searching for a suitable excuse. Then he clapped his hands and laughed. “I was hugging him!” Paris gave his startled father a hug, a fake smile plastered on his face. “See!”

“Liar!” Isis shouted.

“Silence, servant!” Paris barked, his cheeks red with anger. He sprinted over to her with his hand raised. “I'm going to flog you, you cheeky little rat!” he shouted.

Isis's fists were balled. Cleo stuck out her claws and hissed.

“Call yourself royal, do you?” Isis shouted to Paris. “Well, come on, then! I'll show you how we deal with liars in Egypt!”

Tom couldn't work out who looked the more dangerous of the two. What Isis lacked in height, she more than made up for in pluck. But Paris was tall and bulging with muscles.

“Enough!” the king croaked. “Paris! Be still, boy! Your quarrel is with me, not with this strange little servant.” He looked at Isis and patted her head. He gave her a kindly smile. “Where do we find them these days? Egypt indeed! Most peculiar!”

The king shuffled over to his golden throne and grunted as he lowered himself on to it. Clutching his embroidered cloak round his stooped shoulders, he looked at the prince with tired, sad eyes.

“Come over here and sit by me, Paris,” the king croaked, patting the chair at his right side with a wrinkled hand.

Tom thought he seemed neither angry at, nor scared of, his son.

Paris strode over to the throne. He sat stiffly next to his father. When the king reached out to take his hand, Paris snatched it away.

“Come, son,” the king said. “We should be united. For the good of Troy. This fighting serves no useful purpose. Let's drink to peace.”

Priam turned to Tom and Isis. “Bring the drink here, now!”

Tom approached the throne slowly. The jug and two wine bowls rattled on the tray that he was carrying. He set them on to the low table that Isis had placed in front of Priam and Paris.

Suddenly, Tom's eye caught sight of the huge golden ring that Priam was wearing on his right hand. In the centre of the ring was a glittering, yellow jewel, like a shiny egg. The amulet!

Isis jabbed her finger towards it and cleared her throat. Tom nodded. This was it! But how could they get it off without Priam noticing?

Priam held out his bowl. “Pour! Pour!” he ordered Isis.

Isis held up the jug. She winked at Tom. Then she started to pour as much wine over King Priam's hand as she did in the bowl.

“You fool!” he shouted, flicking the drops of wine off his fingers and on to the floor.

Isis tore a strip from the hem of her tunic and began wiping the king's hand.

“Oooh, so sorry, Your Royal Highness. Dear, oh dear! I'm so clumsy!” she said.

Tom watched Isis slide the ring quickly off Priam's hand. She shoved it into her pocket.

“There, there!” she said. “All dry now.”

She bowed low and grabbed Tom by the elbow.

“Quick!” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

Together, they edged backwards, towards the corridor where Cleo was waiting.

The heavy doors swung shut behind them.

“We've done it!” Isis whispered. She reached down and gave Cleo a cuddle.

Now all Tom, Isis and Cleo had to do was touch the amulet, and they'd be whisked back to where they had come from. But Cleo had her own ideas. She sniffed the air and started to pad back towards the bright lights of the kitchen, following the scent of roasted meat.

“Come back here, you silly cat,” Tom hissed after Cleo.

Isis glared at Tom. “That's no way to talk to a royal cat! She's hungry.”

“Pardon me for wanting to get out of here alive,” Tom said. “How long do you think it will take Priam to notice that you've taken the amulet?”

Isis didn't need to reply. Just then an almighty roar echoed down the corridor. “That servant has stolen my ring!” shouted the king.

“Uh oh,” said Tom. “Now we're in trouble.”

“Let's get out of here, fast!” said Isis. “Run, Fluffpot!”

Tom and Isis ran down the corridor after the cat. They were chased by two royal guards carrying sharp spears. Behind them, Tom heard the heavy footsteps of a third man. He glanced behind. It was Paris! And he was gaining on them.

Cleo meowed and shot into the kitchen.

Tom glanced over his shoulder. The guards would be on them any moment.

“Let's just go!” he urged Isis. “Cleo will be happy here, hunting for mice.”

“We can't go without Cleo!” Isis cried, as they ran into the kitchen.

Before Isis could scoop up her cat, the stones beneath their feet started to tremble. Tom and Isis slammed into one another, as crumbling rock spurted out of the ground in front of them.

Looking terrified, Cleo yowled and jumped out of a small window.

“Let me guess,” Isis groaned. “Anubis!”

Sure enough, up popped the towering form of the Egyptian god of the Underworld himself. He stood between them and the window, blocking their way out. In his hand he held a huge jug.

“You're a
slippery
little pair, aren't you?” Anubis said, his deep voice rumbling round the kitchen. His red eyes shone with menace. “Let's see if you can get to grips with this!”

Anubis poured the contents of the jug on the floor. He threw back his head in a fit of nasty laughter, so that his fangs shone dangerously in the candlelight. In a flash of lightening, he disappeared.

A thick liquid now covered their path to the window. Tom guessed from the smell that it was olive oil.

“To the window! Hurry!” Tom said. “But be careful!”

He sprinted forward and felt his foot slide on the oil. “Whoa!” Tom cried as his legs skated across the floor.

“I've got great balance,” Isis boasted. “I'll be fine. You can lean on meeeeee—”

Her left foot slipped and flew out in the opposite direction to her right. Suddenly Isis was doing the splits. Tom tried to pull her up, but slipped again himself. With flailing arms, they skidded round the kitchen on the olive oil.

Just then the two burly guards burst into the kitchen. Catching sight of Tom and Isis, they ran towards the children, not noticing the oil spill. The first guard slipped and fell on his back, the second guard fell and went sliding across the room.

“Aaarrrghhh!” the guard screamed. Then with a loud
thump
he hit the kitchen wall.

Tom felt a strong hand grab the back of his tunic, hauling him out of the slippery mush. He looked round and stared straight into the furious face of Prince Paris himself.

“Where do you think you're going, thieves?!” he said. “You stole my father's ring!”

The prince's teeth were set in a grim snarl. Tom was reminded of next door's horrible German shepherd dog.

“Nonsense! What are you talking about?” Isis asked, taking a step towards him.

Tom couldn't help but look directly at the pocket of her tunic, where he was certain she had put the ring. Hopefully Prince Paris wouldn't see it.

“I know you've stolen it, you little dunghill rat!”

Isis tensed beside Tom. “How DARE you?” she said.

For a second, Paris seemed confused. “Er, I'm the Prince of Troy. So… er… I dare quite easily, actually, SERVANT!”

Isis poked the prince in his tummy. “Go on, then, if you think you're so clever. Search us!”

“Search us?” Tom asked. He stared at Isis, baffled. What on earth was she saying? She was going to get them thrown from the walls of Troy! “No, I
really
don't think Prince Paris needs to search us,” he said.

Isis flicked her plaits over her shoulder. “Oh, yes,” she said, sticking her nose in the air, “he
really
does!”

She's gone mad
, Tom thought.

If Paris found the amulet, they'd never be able to give it to Anubis. Isis would never get to the Afterlife… and Tom would be stuck in ancient Troy forever!